


The way we were, the way we are, and the doom that is sure to follow

by SaturdayAddams



Series: Something stupid [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Implied Rough Sex, Some angst, Two emotionally repressed idiots navigating not being in a relationship, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-09-15 22:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16941933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturdayAddams/pseuds/SaturdayAddams
Summary: Just random little unrelated ficlets and scenes. Updated when an idea hits.





	1. Marks

There’s a bite mark on his neck, and it’s just as well that his wife denies him so that he won’t have to explain that one. Or the one on his shoulder. Not to mention the purple bruise on the hollow of his throat and the ten perfect red lines across his back. He may have been the one who mere moments ago fucked her into the sofa cushions, but there would be no doubt looking at them that she gave as good as she got. A tangled mess, a good description of both her hair (Faustus had shown his rather obvious fascination with it by pulling it and burying his hands in it to an excessive but by no means unwelcome degree) and their limbs currently splayed haphazardly and utterly spent. This was not what she had imagined when she pulled him aside for his council, nevertheless, it did its job in calming both body and mind much better than any words of comfort or absolution ever could. All things considered, she sees no reason to stop now, and frankly, he seems in no rush to leave. Her lips reclaim his, fingers busy discovering every part of him. Where it earlier had been frenzied and desperate, they are now all languid strokes and long kisses, and it takes an almost embarrassingly short time for her desire to build again. Never one to waste an opportunity, she'd had him hovering above her in some form for almost 16 years and now sees her chance to have him beneath her for a change, she pushes him off her, delights in his brief look of confusion, before straddling him. She has to suppress an undignified giggle at the rather absurd idea that it is the High Priest himself that is naked between her thighs, but the palpable lust as he looks at her, not to mention his rather obvious renewed interest pressed against her means anything remotely funny is buried by desires much stronger.

The door slams hard in the hallway, and they both freeze. The loud sound is quickly followed by hurried steps up the stairs, and she breaths a sigh of relief, knowing it's Sabrina no doubt caught up in her mortal nonsense per usual, and as such probably won't leave her room until forced. 

His attention still towards the door, it’s pure instinct compelling her to catch him off guard and sink her teeth into his lower lip. Sure, his bloody lip can be explained quite innocently, but there's no way to hide it under his clothes. Sinking herself onto him with the metallic taste of blood invading her mouth, he invades everything else.  
His grip on her hips tighten, and she briefly wonders if there will be any evidence of his ring on his imprint on her.

She decides not to dwell on the part of her that hopes it will.


	2. Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluff that fluffs.

“This is not befitting the office of the High Priest” he huffs, and the beyond wounded reaction she’s sure she’d get should she mention how, dare she say it, adorable, he is right now is almost enough to tell him. “Or the dean of the Academy. Or frankly anyone within the Church of Night” he continues, yet despite his indignation and objections he still obliges, peeping through the door and returning with a shake of his head.

 

“”Well, the High Priest doesn’t have a highly curious and judgmental niece who happens to wander these halls does he? Trust me Faustus, it’s better this way” Straightening the lapel of his jacket, she pauses to make her point absolutely clear “For _both_ of us”.

 

“If _someone_ tried to keep quiet, we wouldn’t have this issue, would we?” He doesn’t even manage to finish the sentence before her laugh ring through his ears.

 

“Oh please, as if your ego would take well to that. Don’t even pretend you don’t get off on every single sound I make“ He doesn’t remotely try to hide his smirk at that, leaning down to nibble at her lower lip.

 

“My name does sound delicious when screamed from those lips of yours” he concedes, and the ridiculously arrogant way he looks at her has the unfortunate side effect of making her want to forget about getting out of his office, and instead have him prove to her again just how good he is at drawing said screams out of her. A desire she chooses to ignore for the time being. Satan knows his ego doesn’t need another boost.

 

“I hope you’re not under any impression you are even remotely quiet yourself?”

 

“Well I’m not the one who gives a damn am I?”

 

“And if you can just check again, maybe we’ll get out of this with everyone who’s been within earshot just thinking it’s another random witch you had on your desk again” Removing herself from his reach, she can practically see his sigh, just as clearly as she hears it. His fingers running through his hair in what she’s begun recognize as a rare, yet telling habit.

 

“The only thing random lately has been where and when” he mutters, just quiet enough for her to pretend to have missed it should she choose. She shouldn’t care, nor does she dare believe what he implies, but it excites her far more than is wise nonetheless.

 

“Just where or when?” she can’t help herself, but make sure her teasing tone doesn’t reveal how fast her treacherous heart has started beating within her chest “hard to believe, His Excellency the Voracious Slut himself”

 

He shoots her an odd look, and appears to change his mind about four times on whether to respond to what she just said. Perhaps to avoid furthering the topic, he turns to fulfill her earlier command, peeping through the door, once again shaking his head.

 

“Still there. I could just command them away you know. It’s hardly a secret I’m half of who’s in here”

 

He’s barely turned back in her direction before his lips are assaulted by a pair luscious red ones, and the body they’re attached to push him back against the door, closing it firmly in the process.

 

“What are you doing?” His mouth and arms surely wouldn’t be so quick responding to her rather impulsive ambush had there been any real confusion. Focusing on the feel of him, there's no doubt the majority of her reasons are best to bury deep, and definitely never speak out loud.

 

“Practicing being quiet I guess”


	3. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornings can be a tricky thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, writing a whole fic about Zelda and Blackwood getting caught wasn't enough, so here's another take. And while Hilda's not mentioned, she's away for the weekend in this one.

Something, the merest hint of a sound, pulls him out of his slumber. Cloud of red hair impairing his vision, the feel of her body and that smell he can never get enough of surrounds him. Pulling her closer, as a soft “shhh” fall from her lips. Still between dream and reality, his whereabouts are slightly hazy, but his aching body and the comfort of both the bed and the witch in his arms render such matter irrelevant.

 

Moments later, it’s clear that the sound rudely awakening him is a pointed cough, from somewhere further away than the very much sleeping Zelda Spellman.

 

Eyes open fully this time, trying to take in his surroundings. The realization that this is not his home, not that she ever really spent the night there either, but most definitely Zelda’s room has barely registered by the time the irate teenager at the door snaps into focus.

 

If looks could kill.

 

“Miss Spellman”

 

The little blonde just stares at him. Raises her brow, and while he’s never been one to be remotely ashamed about sex, being caught waking up next to Zelda feels different, and so his immediate reaction is to shake his bedmate's limp body, willing her to deal with that hellfire of a niece herself.

 

She responds with a low whine as she stretches her entire body up against him, and he’s suddenly very aware of the thin sheet covering him from view.

 

“Satan, you’re just absolutely insatiable aren’t you” her breath warm against his neck, teeth nibbling known paths. He’s tempted to remind her of her own demanding appetites, but his mouth is too busy both trying to keep up with hers, and warn her of their increasingly pissed off audience.

 

“Obviously, but that’s not why I woke you” directing her attentions towards the door by more or less manhandling her away from him.

 

“Sweet...Sabrina!”

 

Looking between the two, it’s the younger one who has the benefit of running on indignation, rather than shock.

 

“So, just casual fucks in his office, huh?”

 

She had caught them once before, true. Barging into his office without knocking, catching an eyeful of the two of them on his couch. Zelda had been absolutely magnificent. Thrown her niece out before proceeding to ride him like her life depended on it. Sabrina had said nothing in the time after, only shot him the dirtiest of looks, and while he had never known exactly what Zelda had eventually told her, he knew she was the one to thank for him not having to put up with her niece's usual ramblings laced with tedious mortal morality.

 

As to how he’d actually ended up staying the night, he wasn’t sure either one had a proper explanation for that. Their activities had been...intense, to say the least, and in the end they had both been sweaty, panting and unable to move. He had most definitely, as usual, meant to leave, but at no point did he find either the sheer willpower or strength to do so. He had simply closed his eyes, just for a moment, trying to cool off, enjoying the softness of her. And then he knew nothing more until their unwelcome intruder awoke them.

 

“Office, bed, I don’t see how it is any of your business”

 

Not many people were able to render Zelda Spellman absolutely speechless, and as such, it didn’t take long for her to regain both the use of her tongue, and her most haughty attitude. “Care to explain why you’ve entered my room without knocking?”

 

There’s a lot of things that gets him every single time about the woman next to him, and her ability to turn to absolute steel is very high on that list. She could even almost be taken seriously despite the fact that she looks absolutely thoroughly fucked beyond reason. Hair a wild mess, makeup smudged, and every visible part of her skin scattered with bite marks and bruises. Both proud and turned on by how debauched the usually pristine Zelda Spellman looks from his touch, his crowning achievement his handprint on her creamy white neck. Flashes of the night before and a burning around his wrists remind him that he must look quite a state too, matching her with his own bruises and red marks.

 

It’s obvious there’s a budding realization of her own appearance as she stares at her niece. Hands clearly aching to bring the covers further up, but her sheer force of will refusing to appear ashamed or weak.

 

“Well?”

 

 

“There’s a demon in the basement”

 

He had been more than content to just lean back and watch Zelda deal with the situation, but the young witch’s words quickly bring him out of his relaxed state.

 

“What?”

 

Both equally disbelieving, there’s little else to say really, and by Sabrina’s put upon nonchalant continuation, there’s no doubt which of her aunts she’s emulating.

 

“So I guess I need both of you. Now”

 

The realization that he might actually have to deal with this, instead of the much more pleasant morning he envisioned at first awakening hits, but he’s not prepared to just accept facts as presented.

 

“A Demon? A demon just happens to be loose in this house?” He knows that’s fully well that’s not something that just happens. Especially not in Zelda Spellman’s house. Sabrina looks abashed for a flicker of a moment. No doubt there’s something she’s not telling, and while intent to get to the bottom of it, the way she looks at him stops him. Suddenly too aware of his current state, not that it should matter, it's obvious that Zelda has taught that girl too well. While her gaze doesn’t stop at any of his more incriminating marks, she does pointedly let it linger at his undoubtedly messy hair, before staring him straight in the eyes.

 

“Yes, your Excellency, and I would suggest you hurry” Her smile all teeth, and he has to resist the urge to reach up and smooth out his unruly strands. He meets her with an equally predatory smile of his own.

 

"Very well"

 

The annoyed witch next to him reveals he’s not the only one suspicious of her niece’s role in the matter.

 

“We will deal with the how this came to be later Sabrina” and Sabrina actually has the sense to look momentarily afraid before turning her attention back to the two of them.

 

“Will we deal with _this_ later too?”

 

“Under absolutely no circumstances”

 

It’s hard to say which of the two would have won the ensuing staring match, but a loud clash from somewhere in the house startles the younger Spellman.

 

“Oh, Ambrose!”

 

She’s out the door before the sound has died down, a quick plea for them to hurry up left behind.

 

Alone, the first time in years they’ve ever woken up together, it’s Zelda who finally breaks the ice:

 

“Welcome to mornings at the Spellman residency”

 

Surprising even himself, he finds he doesn’t really mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing Faustus POV so be kind!


	4. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little doom is in order given the title of this fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your nice comments so far! This one is a little different from the other chapters...

He honestly couldn’t give a fuck about that little bitch. Frankly, he had often found himself wishing she had died along with that ghastly father of hers. But here he was. For the first time in his very long life having openly and blatantly defied the Dark Lord. To save her. Save her soul. Not because he cared. But because _she_ did.

 

She, who had always been an at least as, if not a more, loyal servant than he. Truly, he should have cast her aside at the first signs of her trembling loyalties. Excommunicated her for her insolence and disobedience. Light the match and watch her burn before the seed that led to this very moment was allowed to bloom. Ironically, the Zelda he had first desired all those centuries ago would have joined him in his judgement. Gleefully stood there at his side as the Dark Lords will was enacted. Watched the ground burning beneath whatever sorry excuse of a witch would dare defy Satan himself.

 

Yet if he claimed to be surprised at where her loyalties ultimately would fall, he would be lying

He knew.

 

And the Zelda of old would have judged him weak for doing nothing.

  
Now, he was the one who was burning. Ground cracking beneath his feet. Time till he would be swallowed insignificant. Piercing numbness the only thing shielding him from the true terror of the situation.

  
Had anyone asked what he would have done a week ago, a day, even that very morning, he would have laughed. Chided whoever dared imply whatever affections he may or may not feel for any witch would ever prevail over his loyalty to the dark lord. Triumph over his duty as High Priest. There mere suggestion that there was a choice at all, laughable.

But that look on her face.

 

Rushing to the clearing, intent to ensure the Dark Lords will would be victorious. Seeing her, he froze. Zelda Spellman was a lot of things. Hopeless had never been one of them. And he would have given anything never to see it again.

  
Turned out he had been right. There truly hadn’t been a choice. Not really. Before he knew, the spell was cast joint with her. Magic and strength united. It was just enough. The girl was safe. The ground shook, and he might as well have lighted the flames underneath him himself.

 

Desperately clutching her niece to her chest, it was obvious nothing else in that moment mattered but the girl in her arms. Not even the fact that the entire rest of her life had in a matter of minutes crumbled into nothing, and Satan how he envied her that. She probably wouldn’t burn. Not yet. Not like him. Though their Lord was an unforgiving Lord, the harshest punishment had always been reserved for those who commit the highest acts of treason. But she would be lost forever, and really, what was the difference but mere timing? Only a matter of how long to live as an empty shell before the Dark Lord comes for her as well. Before she will beg him to. As such, while there might be a way for him to escape his immediate fate, he sees no reason to. Not like this. Broken beyond repair. Severed, not only from his Lord, but from everything he has ever been and ever held important. Fate sealed by his very own actions. The excruciating pain of fire surely better than hollow nothing and endless hiding from the omnipotent being that used to be part of him. Why should he try to endure? Why should he fight, with nothing left to fight for?

 

Watching her smile through tears, whispering something to her niece. Maybe that would just have to be enough. Closing his eyes, with no desire to see anything else.

 

He was done.

Flames licked his skin, but suddenly there was something almost cool in contrast caressing his palm. Her hand hadn't spent a lot of time in his, but he would know the feel of it anywhere.

This time she surprised him.

  
About to yell at her to get away from him, away from the Dark Lord’s wrath, one look at her stopped him. Wild and ferocious, the flames surrounding them only made her glow, amplifying the fire within her. Her eyes alight with everything he had come to loathe to depend on. Had he told her enough just how glorious she was? Had he ever told her at all?

  
He hadn’t wanted to see her devoid of hope ever again, and now, in her he saw only determination. Folly. There shouldn’t be a choice at all, and if there was he had already made it. There was nothing but to accept the inevitable, and if she decided to burn with him, well that was on her. He had done his part, and could do no more. Would do no more. No, the idea that there could be anything but the flames for him, laughable. A life after this? Even with her, they were two forever ruined souls, lost from all that had ever mattered. Even two fighters would need something to fight for.

He should be done.

 

Had anyone asked a minute, or even a few seconds ago.

 

But that look on her face.

  
  
He squeezed her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe slightly (or very!) ooc Blackwood here, but I like to think there's room for that black heart to grow just a tiny bit


	5. Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young(ish) Zelda/Blackwood fluff

“Well, this wasn’t what I was expecting when I came to visit your brother”

 

His breath ragged, skin covered in sweat, she pretended to temporarily ignore the lie as she tasted the salt on his neck and let her fingers play with the hair on his chest.

 

“I figured someone had to entertain when such an esteemed guest came calling”

 

He laughed at that, moved between her legs once more, and stared into her eyes before kissing her deeply. His tongue massaging hers, it truly was far too easy to get lost in the feel of him. This was beyond moronic. The fact that Edward would kill her should he find out, nowhere near the top of the list of reasons why. The fact that she was already growing to feel addicted to both hands, lips, tongue, and...other parts, especially given the reputation of the warlock they belonged to, should ring warning bells so loud they could be heard from the moon.

 

Her desire for the man had started her second year at the Academy when he first entered the classroom as the professor of the Dark Arts. While his knowledge certainly was impressive, those classes were mostly spent trying not to give away how her mind tended to wander to vivid images of that desk of his put to much better use. He hadn’t given her the time of day however, no matter how she tried to impress him with both wit, hard work and increasingly skimpy outfits. Now that she was in her 20s she cringed, and thanked Satan that Blackwood hadn’t responded to her adolescent self. She thanked him even more for the ways those eyes now would make clear he no longer had a single honorable intention when it came to her. It was ridiculous, really, and she made no move to discourage him. Though not as obvious in the way she dressed as when she was a teenager, she always made sure something would draw his eye, be it cleavage just a little more exposed than usual or buttons strategically placed where she knew he’d itch to open them. Her skirts were rarely short, but she did like wearing slits where she got to show off her thighs just long enough for his mind to wander higher up her legs. A man who liked a good hunt, she wasn’t quite sure how aware he was that his prey was hunting him right back. Regardless, it was fun how predictably she could make him stare, but Satan was she starting to curse Edward for somehow, always sniffing out when the two dared be in proximity of each other. Always showing up, always sticking his giant head in where it didn’t belong, prohibiting anything more interesting than flirtatious looks and conversations filled with innuendo from ever happening. As such, little to no time was wasted once she opened the door for him and quickly established Edward was out of town. All that pent up desire resulting in his lips on hers before the front door was even closed. Hands on her hips crashing her into him. Her own hands already busy removing his coat, letting it fall to the floor. The rest of their clothes soon followed, leaving a trail as they bumped into walls and tripped over stairs in an attempt to get to her room. While she usually adored the way he dressed, the downside definitely was just how long it took to rid him of all his layers, patience soon dissolved to frenzy, ripping everything that could be ripped in a need to get to the body underneath.

 

She’d never expected him to be a gentle lover. Never wanted him to be. And Satan did he deliver as his fingers worked her while he whispered all the things was going to do with her. When he pinned her hands over her head and finally entered her in one hard thrust, she couldn’t recognize her own voice as she moaned and pleaded. It was rough and messy, and everything she had ever fantasized it would be. When she came, it was both the Dark Lord’s and Faustus’s name that escaped her lips, though she really hoped he hadn’t caught her inability to suppress a ‘Professor Blackwood’ in the middle of it all. He followed her soon after, and at no time in her years alive had the sound of her own name turned her on more than when wrenched from Faustus during his own orgasm.

 

She hadn’t been sure what to expect after. Would he simply dress and leave? Having satiated his curiosity simply pretend nothing had happened? Still in his arms, she could relax knowing that was not the case.

 

Breaking the kiss, she couldn’t help herself:

 

“Faustus? Did you really forget Edward was out of town when you came over tonight?”

 

His telltale smirk giving him away, he didn’t eve bother reply. Merely let his fingers dance across her skin, his lips descending to her breasts, kissing and biting in equal measure. His breath warm as he finally spoke:

 

“You tell me Zelda, do you usually wear a corset and lace underwear when at home alone?”

 

She grinned

 

“Maybe you’ll have to come over more often and check for yourself?”

 

“Someone’s forgetting the usual presence of an overprotective older brother and nosy little sister prohibiting any activities where I get anywhere near your underwear”

 

“You’re a powerful, clever warlock. Figure it out” Challenge issued, she had little doubt he would rise to it. This would probably end in disaster, but as she reclaimed his lips and wrapped her legs around him to pull him closer, eager to feel him inside once more, she was more than willing to simply enjoy the ride there.


	6. Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy trash, aka my favourite genre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zelda is a little more submissive in this one, but only cause she has Blackwood exactly where she wants him!

Damn that smooth tongue and silky voice. He could probably talk his way into most witches, and probably warlocks, underwear with that voice, and she had no illusion that he hadn’t done just that. What was infinitely more vexing though was that the bastard knew exactly the effect his voice had on her, using it to his utmost advantage, today no exception. She’d blasted through his office doors absolutely furious, with the intent of letting him hear just how unreasonable he had acted regarding her itinerary, yet she quickly found herself on his desk with the warlock in question on top of her growling an onslaught of filthy wicked things in her ear. The silky veneer that had gotten her into this position in the first place giving way to something rough and primal that had her keening at every word.

 

As effective as that voice was at making her lose any modicum of control when whispering filthy things in her ear, there was no denying that how he used it when conducting grandiose sermons had her absolutely soaked through her underwear by the time he was finished. An imposing figure standing at the pulpit with his unholiest robes, it was his booming and melodic voice as he spoke the Dark Lord’s words that had her hanging on to every syllable as much as the words of the unholy scripture itself did. The occasional moment where he’d look her dead in the eyes as he lowered his voice to that rough timbre he usually saved for telling her how hard he’d fuck her, while he hailed praise to the Dark Lord’s deeds, had her clenching her thighs together in desperate need for relief. At least she wasn’t the only one with blasphemous thoughts, and if his smirk as he saw her stifle a moan wasn’t evidence of that, he surely secured they’d both need to offer penance to the Dark Lord when he barely bothered to wait till the last parishioner had exited before bending her over the altar.

 

Zelda Spellman would usually hex anyone moronic enough to try to tell her what to, especially if said ‘anyone’ was a man, but whenever Faustus would infuse his voice with all the stern authority of the office of the High Priest, be it to demand her faithful service to the Church, assign penance or order her down on her knees as he tightly wound a handful of her hair in his fist while she took him in her mouth, she’d comply to whatever that delicious voice commanded. Oh, how she desired to _please_ , and any crack in his impeccably crafted composure the unholiest victory.

 

While Faustus could be a scary man when angry, there was something about how the edge of his voice blended with his habitual silkiness to utter dark perfection. Sure, she’d never admit it, but the amount of times she quietly praised Satan for Sabrina’s particular gift of pissing him off was getting embarrassingly high. She rarely agreed with her niece's choices of course, but she saw no reason not to be a very loyal aunt and stick up for her foolish actions every now and then, especially when said loyalty would provoke that voice that promised nothing but pure unabridged passion and punishment, something she would eagerly be the recipient of. The bite of his voice every bit as good as the bite of his teeth.

 

Deciding between the various facets to his voice felt like deciding between her most frequently used childhood hexes: completely impossible and no reason why she couldn’t enjoy all of them, and so she refused to play favourites. That is, until one night after a long and gruelling day at the Academy where every student seemed to have been in competition as to who could get in the most trouble, not an easy feat at a satanic school. Both she and Faustus had spent the entire day dealing with frustrated parents and teenagers in various states of irate, hexed or poisoned. Exhausted, they nevertheless stumbled into his bed, long hours and tired minds lost in each other’s arms. Afterwards, she couldn’t move even if she wanted to, body firmly pulled against his, head resting on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat slowing down along with his breathing lulling her closer to sleep.

 

“You’re glorious.” A whisper in the darkness. Raw and soft, his voice’s usual power weakened by sleep. Until that moment she had never heard him anywhere near vulnerable, and with that, the new contender had just risen to the top.

 

 

At least until Sabrina’s next transgression.


	7. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two stubborn witches

"Damn you Faustus. Who I talk to is none of your business"

 

His flaring nostrils betrayed his agitated state, fist clenching and unclenching in an obvious attempt to keep his outward calm.

 

"That is no way to speak to your High Priest. _Sister"_

 

Sister. That bastard.

 

"Right. You are my High Priest. I am your parishioner. Nothing more, Your Excellency."

 

Words spat like venom, her only source of joy was how obviously taken aback he got. He quickly recovered, his smoothest voice used to twist the knife even more.

 

"And as such, I, as High Priest, expect you to behave in a manner befitting the coven."

 

Damned, damned, damned that man straight to the fiery pit.

 

She smiled so wide it hurt. Turned her eyes down in mockery of submission.

 

"Your excellency. You must know I would never do anything to embarrass the coven or defy the Dark Lord. I am nothing but your humble servant. But do please tell me _exactly_ how you feel I’ve acted in ways not befitting the coven by speaking to the members in it"

 

He had nothing. His bruised male ego aside, and surely that was all it was, wasn’t it? If he could chatter with whatever airhead witch in the coven, she sure as Satan could talk to whomever she wanted. Preferably right in front of him.

 

Seconds passed as he seemed to reject about a thousand of retorts. He exhaled loudly, and her victory seemed imminent.

 

When he finally spoke he was the picture of indifference.

 

"Well then, I guess we agree. You are obviously free to do as you please. As am I."

 

She bristled, and no amount of self control could stop the words spilling from her mouth:

 

"Do _who_ you please" I think you mean.

 

 

"Um...guys. You guys want to passive-aggressively argue somewhere more private?"

Ambrose's voice bringing them both out from the illusion that they were not surrounded by her family. Her nephew having apparently downed a full glass of wine before speaking, while Hilda and Sabrina seemed most fascinated by the wall.

 

"We're not arguing Ambrose. Besides. I’m sure the High Priest was just leaving." Her eyes glued to the man in front of her, and for once in his cursed life he seemed prepared to make her life a little bit easier:

"The High Priest most definitely was" he sneered, his own eyes not leaving her.

 

"You should hurry. Floozies don’t just enjoy themselves" Cursing herself as the words left at how inept she was at hiding her bitterness.

 

"I’d be careful throwing that word around, _sister_ , considering who’s the one most recently occupying my bed." His smirk grew bigger at the surprised gasps surrounding them, her own embarrassment at his revelation diminished by her desire to bite that cursed smirk off. He turned to leave, victory in hand, but Zelda had no intention of letting him.

 

"Speaking of the coven. What would they say if they knew their High Priest lets a mere parishioner mark him. Such _willingness_ to suffer for his flock."

 

His head snapped around, and he approached her like the predator he was. Eyes glinting in a way that usually meant an especially good time was in store, but right now surely foretold something far less pleasant. As he made a show of observing their audience, she tried to prepare herself for whatever was to come.

 

"And what would they say if they knew the Coven’s great stoic ice queen, once she’s had her carnal fill, as it were..." drawing out every last syllable, he kept his stare fixed on her as he reached the dreadful conclusion "enjoys to cuddle?"

 

He had barely spat out that last word before her hand connected with his cheek in a resounding smack.

 

"I. Do. Not."

Seething, she saw his enjoyment of her anger reflecting in his eyes as the hurried shuffling of retracting feet and doors slammed shut filled the room.

 

"Experience says differently, sister."

 

His hand intercepted her own as it once again flew towards his face. His grip tight, with no indication of letting go.

 

"Well, even if, I don’t remember you as a particularly reluctant participant!"

 

His mouth opened as if to speak. How she loved to watch him at a loss for words. His breath warm on her face, their close proximity became distractedly apparent. She smiled up at him, there might not be a victor, but the last word appeared to be hers. Releasing her arm, his hands found her hips in a even tighter grip, pulling her flush against him in one swift movement. Anger and desire, as so often with them, suddenly interchangeable.

 

"Perhaps not" he whispered, and his grin revealed he knew just the effect he had on her.

 

"Damn you Faustus"


End file.
